


Steve Dances the Charleston (or he just dances)

by innocent_until_proven_geeky



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Asthmatic Steve Rogers, Bisexual Bucky Barnes, Bisexual Steve Rogers, M/M, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Protective Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-10
Updated: 2019-06-10
Packaged: 2020-04-12 15:47:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19135180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/innocent_until_proven_geeky/pseuds/innocent_until_proven_geeky
Summary: Steve isn’t allowed to enlist.Bucky just signed up for the draft.A night in, the radio on, and maybe Steve wasn’t lying about Mrs. Peters being on a trip—finally, James Buchanan Barnes gets to teach the love of his life how to dance.





	Steve Dances the Charleston (or he just dances)

**Author's Note:**

> The Charleston is actually a more upbeat dance than what Bucky is going to teach Steve n this fic, and it’s more from the late 20s and Depression era, but I couldn’t think of a good title, so I switched out one of the words from a book by my great grandmother Ruth Corbett (called Daddy Dances the Charleston). Unfortunately I have no access to her book so I have no idea if this one-shot is even sort of like the plot there, and like... I can’t recommend it to y’all because I don’t know if it’s any good? It got published so I mean, I have some hope for it, but it’s not a classic by any means either.
> 
> Anyway I know the title doesn’t flow, and I am absolutely not sorry because I’m proud of myself anyway, lol, but I’m just putting it out there now rather than later that Steve Rogers will not actually be dancing the Charleston. Other than that, I hope you like this little one-shot, it’s actually kind of been in the works for a long time but I never thought about putting it out there until now.

Bucky knows before he gets home that Steve is already there. He has the radio on, loud enough to wake the dead and for Bucky to hear it from the other end of the hall and two floors down. Bucky groans—Mrs. Peters is going to complain again, he can already tell, and if they get one more complaint the landlord will kick them out. Not that anyone except Mrs. Peters complained, but she’s well-loved by the landlord and probably has more money than half the other residents combined (Bucky is sure she doesn’t come by it honestly). She’ll stay, and Steve and Bucky will leave if she raises a stink.

Bucky takes the stairs two at a time and fights the urge to sprint down the hall. Tell Steve to turn down the music, or turn it down himself. He opens the door and Steve is sitting on the ratty sofa, stone-faced, staring at the wall. The face he has when he comes home from a fight he’s lost, except after a moment’s pause Bucky can see he’s not bruised or cut up anywhere, just bitter.

Bucky walks into the kitchen—not a separate kitchen, really, just a counter with a sink on a five-foot-by-five-foot tile corner of the living room—and turns the radio down, ready to give Steve a stern talking-to. He turns back to his friend, still glaring at the wall from his spot on the sofa, and sighs.

“Steve, you can’t turn the radio on that loud,” Bucky tells him. “If Missus Peters complains again, we’ll be evicted for disturbing the residents.”

“She’s on vacation,” Steve grumbles, not moving a muscle other than his mouth. “I checked before I turned the music on.”

Steve has a habit of not telling the truth sometimes, when he gets like this, but until the landlord comes calling Bucky decides to leave it. Instead, he wants to know what’s got Steve so angry.

“They won’t let me enlist,” Steve explains before Bucky has a chance to ask. “Something about asthma and tuberculosis and fifty other maladies.” His breath is shaking now, and Bucky can’t tell if it’s anger or if Steve is about to cry, but he doesn’t interrupt. “I don’t weigh enough, I can’t breathe right. They’re desperate for soldiers and they’re not letting me join because I’m not good enough.”

Bucky shakes his head. “Nah, Stevie,” he insists. “You’re the best of ‘em. All it is is you can’t breathe right.” He doesn’t say anything about why he’s home half an hour late. How is he going to tell this pint-sized justice-seeking blond of his that he had to sign up for the draft today or risk getting fired? That he doesn’t want to go out and leave Steve all alone, risk dying out there in the Pacific theater or maybe the European? He can’t, not today, not when Steve’s this close to tears because he can’t enlist, and maybe not ever. He can’t do that.

“I couldn’t even do a push-up, Buck,” Steve replies. His eyes are stinging now, and he tries to fight back the tears but they come anyway because this isn’t fair, all he asked for was the chance to serve his country and he can’t even do that. He already knows he’s gonna die young and he already knows he’d be the first killed when he got out to the war, but that’s better than the alternative, lying on a hospital bed he can’t afford and not being able to breathe because he got polio or some such thing. This isn’t fair, it isn’t fair.

He doesn’t realize until he hears Bucky saying, “I know, I know it isn’t,” that he’s been saying the part about it not being fair out loud. And then he comes back, aware again, and realizes he’s crying into Bucky’s shoulder and now he’s even more upset, he didn’t want Bucky to see him like this, he couldn’t possibly understand—

“I know you just want to make your mom and dad proud, I know,” Bucky says, soothing, even though he’s fighting his own tears. But his are different. His are fear, not wanting to leave, not wanting to die out there, not wanting Steve to be alone. He promised he wouldn’t leave Steve alone, he promised he’d always be there.

And now he understands why the music was up so loud when he came home. It was just a distraction for Steve, and not a reminder of what he’s losing by being so sick all the time like most other stations, the news stations and the like.

“I promised I’d teach you how to dance, didn’t I?” Bucky asks. He already knows he promised two months ago, and it’s been on his mind ever since, but Steve’s got to be the one to decide if they practice dancing, if he wants to be distracted again or if he just wants to cry it out.

Steve nods. “Forgot already, did’ja, Buck?” he jokes, knowing full well Bucky doesn’t forget things like this.

Bucky chuckles and pulls Steve up from the couch. “Well, if Missus Peters is on vacation, and we already have the music going, and we—“ he stops himself before finishing. We both need a distraction? That isn’t technically false, but he doubts saying it’s a distraction will make their little dance lesson work like that. “And we’re both home with plenty o’ time for you to step on my toes and me to walk it off, then I bet I might as well start your dance lessons.”

“I will not step on your toes,” Steve argues. He knows he absolutely will. They both do. But he has to maintain his dignity, joke or not, for just a few more minutes before he breaks his friend’s feet.

“Whatever ya say, punk.” Bucky moves Steve’s right hand to his own waist, and he puts his left hand on Steve’s shoulder, and they’re grasping opposite hands, and Bucky has to look up for a moment to hide his flushing cheeks. “This isn’t like swing dancing,” he says. “You’re a bit more likely to hurt someone swing dancing.”

Steve’s laugh is loud and bright, and he starts swaying to the sound of the Harry James’s jazz orchestra. “So you’re sayin’ you’re trying to keep me from hurting you.”

Bucky takes his hand out of Steve’s to tap the side of his nose, and then he interlaces their fingers again. Without force, he guides Steve through a little bit of a waltz. Waltzes really aren’t designed for music that isn’t in three, but he’s sure Steve won’t notice or care.

“It’s a box!” Steve exclaims, after a few minutes of content silence. When he looks up at Bucky, and finds Bucky is looking down at him, he fights the heat rising in his cheeks.

Bucky grins. “No wonder you fight people all the time, slowpoke. Can’t even figure out a box, explains why you can’t figure out who’s stronger’n you.”

Steve shakes his head, and ducks to hide his smile. His little way of telling Bucky that he doesn’t lack common sense, just impulse control. “I’m pretty sure you got all the stupid, Buck.”

“Punk.” But Bucky’s laughing now. He pulls away from Steve and settles his hands on the back of his friend’s head.

It’s not very good for dancing. Steve doesn’t even try to keep moving, this time to Benny Goodman. He just reaches up to wrap his arms around Bucky’s neck.

The kiss is mutual. It has been every time. It doesn’t stop Steve from pulling back too soon, afraid that he might have been pressuring Bucky. Bucky, in his turn, apologizes promptly for pressuring Steve.

Steve laces their fingers together, and stops Bucky’s third “I’m so sorry” with another kiss.

And then they’re dancing again, and he can’t remember ever feeling quite this giddy about anything.

Maybe if he can stay like this forever, not being able to enlist won’t be such a bad thing.


End file.
